


forty-five

by pricelessmaple



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Birthday, Birthday Cake, Birthday Party, British Men of Letters (Supernatural) Being Assholes, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Torture, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-03 15:39:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17880518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pricelessmaple/pseuds/pricelessmaple
Summary: he is forty-five years old. he never imagined he would have lasted this long.a look into the life of arthur ketch, and forty-five years of disaster.





	forty-five

**Author's Note:**

> forty-five years in the life of arthur ketch - but only the important ones because who the fuck wants to sit through forty-five years of shit  
> i've never done this much editing okay holy shit  
> there are years that i scrapped during editing, there are years i added during editing, and there are years i just simply fixed  
> it also was originally a lot more sexual and violent and i just felt the need to tone that down  
> it was too much for a simple little birthday fic  
> anyways happy birthday arthur ketch i love one (1) funky little psychopath and his dumbass husband

one. february 21st, 1974. the wails of a baby boy could be heard in a hospital in london, having been just born. His parents named him arthur - and, of course, naturally he would carry on the family name of ketch.  
  
his parents had been rather attractive and had both graduated with top honours at the school they would later send their own son to - kendricks academy. his future seemed bright.  
  
no one imagined what would have happened. no one imagined what he would become. his hands were clean. he was innocent.  
  
he was still completely and utterly happy.  
  
—————————————  
  
eight. laying on his bed at night in his house - because it was not home, he had never really had a home - imagining the perfect birthday. it was nothing more than a fantasy - his parents didn’t care about him. they never cared about him. they only cared about the image he gave them. they wanted a perfect son. he was never what they wanted.  
  
which is why he was lying down, contorted, because if he was to move, pain from his back would explode through his body. (he was a grown man now, and he still shuddered and flinched and shook from the sound of a belt.)  
  
but it had felt nice, to imagine what it would be like for someone to care enough about him to celebrate a day, entirely for him.  
  
—————————————  
  
thirteen. he had rolled over and was going to sleep when he heard a hushed knock at his door. when he turned to see who it was, he saw antonia bevell coming into the room and shutting the door behind her. he knew damn well she wasn’t supposed to be here - it was past curfew. but still, he made room for her on his bed.  
  
he didn’t turn on the light. it would be too suspicious this late at night, and he wouldn't dare risk the chance of a security guard coming in here and harming either one of them.  
  
she fumbled with something in the dark, and his chest tightened when he saw the flame on the candle. his breath got caught in his throat when he saw her face in the flicker of the flame, and she looked like an angel that had descended from heaven. her golden hair was practically glowing, and he wanted to reach out, to touch her, but he didn't want to destroy the illusion.  
  
toni held out the cupcake with the thin, cheap candle in it, and he shook his head. “you’re ridiculous,” he told her, but still thought of a wish - "please, i wish someone would love me," - before blowing out the light.  
  
he hadn’t even realised what today was.  
  
“happy birthday, arthur ketch,” she said and planted a gentle kiss on his forehead as she passed off the cupcake to him before leaving. he wanted to ask her to stay, but she was gone before he could come to his senses. the sensation of her kiss had lingered longer than he had expected, and he couldn't help the want in him - he wanted more.  
  
"thank you," he whispered. "thank you."  
  
—————————————  
  
fourteen. ketch realised just how much he craved mick’s touch when they were laying down on the rough concrete of the roof of the boys' halls of residence, and mick had reached over and absentmindedly wrapped a loose hand around ketch’s.  
  
he had nearly flinched at the feeling, as he held back the urge to pull away. he had never been used to someone touching him in a loving way - not like this. he wasn’t sure if he should have been expecting mick to try and get something out of him in return, or if he should have been expecting mick to pull his hand back and hit him.  
  
but mick had done neither. just lied there, with his hand over ketch’s. so ketch lied there next to him, fighting the tears that threatened to fall. the heat from mick’s hand was sparking and spreading through his arm like fire, and he was almost too aware that they were touching.  
  
he had been filled with a longing and a want that he had only ever had once before, with toni. he wanted mick to hold his hand again - he wanted mick to hold him. but they were both boys, and he knew what would happen to them if they ever got caught - or if he even let himself get attached. emotions and attachments at kendricks was a terrible idea, and he should have known better. so he stayed silent, aching for a future he knew he could never have.  
  
—————————————  
  
sixteen. he had left light kisses along mick's body, barely grazing his skin; he was afraid of hurting him. but mick's quiet gasps and soft hands running along his back, finding their way in his hair - it kept him steady, awake, alive. mick cared about him - that much he knew.  
  
he was sixteen now, hopelessly in love with someone he wasn't supposed to be with, and yet, he felt more whole than he ever had.  
  
"i love you," mick chuckled. ketch had never said those words to anyone, not even his own parents. (to be fair, he had never heard them say it either. not to him, and certainly not to each other.) toni had said those words to him, once. he had hesitated, stuttering and stumbling over his own words to give her an explanation as to why he couldn’t say them back.  
  
but to michael davies?  
  
“i love you too, my clever boy.”  
  
he could say them over and over again.  
  
—————————————  
  
eighteen. his first birthday without his parents. he wasn’t an orphan - they were alive. they had just decided he wasn’t good enough. he didn’t deserve them. so, they had left him in the hands of kendricks.  
  
he wasn’t entirely torn up about it. after all, this would leave him with more time to spend with mick.  
  
he stared at the bandage on his hand, there to try and keep bacteria off of his tattoo.  
  
a red celtic cross now permanently (at least, almost permanently) adorned the back of his hand. he hadn’t gotten permission to mark his body like that; he was certain that hess would absolutely kill him when she found out, but in the meantime, he’d appreciate it.  
  
this had been his birthday gift from toni. she told him that she would get him anything he asked for, and jokingly, he had replied with a tattoo.  
  
he almost regretted it. but any doubts about it had practically disappeared when he heard a compliment fall from mick’s lips.  
  
and he hoped, perhaps, it’d send hess right into a heart attack.  
  
—————————————  
  
nineteen. the first birthday he’d spent alone in years. mick refused to talk to him. toni wouldn’t even look at him.  
  
he spent so much of his time, locked away in his head. the fabricated world that the british men of letters made him was easier to live in than his reality.  
  
they’d taken him away from everything, dragged him right out of class and beaten him in the hallway.  
  
stripped down and tortured and—  
  
it hurt. everything hurt. the last thing he remembered was lab techs injecting him with something and then seconds of reality bled into his fiction.  
  
he never wanted this. he’d told hess everything was his fault after he got caught with mick. he took the fall so mick wouldn’t be harmed.  
  
ketch didn’t regret anything. but perhaps it would have been better if he had never been born.  
  
perhaps people like him were never meant to live.  
  
he just wanted for mick to hold him.  
  
but perhaps he was never meant for that either.  
  
—————————————  
  
twenty-two. ketch had graduated from kendricks, and was already out, killing for the british men of letters.  
  
in his free time, they’d sent him off to further his education in his field. (meaning, they’d bring monsters to him, and teach him how to torture them where it truly hurt. he couldn’t help the sense of guilt that stung when he was cleaning the blood off of his hands, but he knew better. there was no place for guilt in his world.)  
  
he was with mick again, but they didn’t see each other as often as they once had. they’d moved into a place together, but it was different. they fought too often now. whether it was about the men of letters, or their work, or toni, or even down to the colour of ketch’s jacket - they never seemed to agree.  
  
the flat had two bedrooms, but one of them was used more as a guest room, and just for show - the men of letters had the addresses of all of their operatives, and it would have been too suspicious as a one-bedroom - and the other was used by both of them.  
  
of course it was just a temporary place; they’d move in somewhere bigger soon. but for now, everything would be fine.  
  
they’d figure it out.  
  
—————————————  
  
twenty-seven. the years had been bleeding together, going by so quickly. it seemed like only yesterday that ketch was graduating from kendricks.  
  
ketch still celebrated his birthday with mick - they usually just went out for dinner and/or to a movie, or something small like that. no big celebrations. this year was different.  
  
toni wanted to celebrate. he didn’t know why - probably to make herself look good around her friends, because she was shallow, just like everyone else around him. all fake and frivolous. everyone except mick, who still had something like life in him.  
  
he was twenty-seven now. he did his best to meticulously preserve his looks, but he was ever-so-steadily aging, and there was nothing to stop that.  
  
and, of course, there was the fact that he felt as though he was slowly losing his mind. he was just so bored with everything in his life - mick was the only thing at this point keeping him from breaking.  
  
once, the killings that the british men of letters assigned him had excited him. now they left him just as numb and empty as before he killed.  
  
and yes, he loved mick, with every fibre of his being, but even the sex was boring him. (he would never admit it to anyone, but occasionally, he told mick he had an assignment to do for the men of letters, and instead, he’d slip away to some pub somewhere to charm the pants off - figuratively and literally - of some vaguely attractive man or woman.) it never brought that same spark of excitement as it once had in his adolescence.  
  
ketch had even found himself in toni’s bedroom a few times. the last time they had been together like that, however, she had yelled at him for shoving her off of him. she had fallen onto the floor, but quite frankly, that had excited him more than anything else she had been doing to him.  
  
he had thoughts, sometimes, of hurting whoever he was in bed with, and he had never fulfilled those kinds of thoughts. (but fuck, did he want to.)  
  
and right now, the thought of strangling toni had never seemed so appealing.  
  
the crowd of their co-workers surrounded him, and the only faces he could confidently pick out were toni and mick. everyone looked the same to him - they were no one to him. absolutely nothing.  
  
the candles had been blown out - “did you have to spit on the cake, ketch?” toni teased him, sliding a knife to him to allow him to cut the cake - and he lifted the blade.  
  
everything was fine at first. with the careful precision of a surgeon, he sliced through the cake. but something happened, and all of a sudden, it was more than a cake - it was a body, with the beat of a heart, and he caught himself stabbing it. over, and over, and over; it fell apart.  
  
he froze when he realised what he did, and couldn’t bring himself to look up. dropping the knife, the clatter echoed through the silence of the room. “i’m so sorry,” he rasped, and walked out of the room with his head lowered.  
  
mick caught him later, and ketch refused to make eye contact. “what the fuck was that?” he demanded. ketch didn’t answer— couldn’t answer. he simply shook his head.  
  
no one attempted a party like that again. it was months before toni even acknowledged ketch’s existence.  
  
—————————————  
  
thirty-five. he hardly paid any attention to his birthday anymore.  
  
but this particular one was enjoyable. the feeling of standing in saltwater under the moonlight with mick’s body pressed against his was something he savoured.  
  
he wanted to say something, tell mick how breathtaking he looked, but he stayed silent. he didn’t want to ruin the moment.  
  
so he ran a wet, sandy hand through mick’s hair, and mick spoke up. “i love you, birthday boy,” he grinned, and pulled ketch’s face down for a kiss.  
  
—————————————  
  
thirty-seven. his first birthday he’d get to spend completely unworried about death.  
  
rowena macleod had placed a resurrection seal on him and mick in return for them helping her escape both the men of letters, and england.  
  
they’d gotten her to america, and he felt good. he felt invincible, even though he knew it would only work once - and then he could find her and get some kind of a refill, but that wasn’t necessary yet. he’d stretch this until he could die out of the united kingdom.  
  
if he died in the united kingdom, the british men of letters would take the time to fully examine the body, and he’d be alive again before they’d be done. even if he died in scotland, or in wales, the body would be shipped off to the british men of letters’ headquarters.  
  
if he died in another country, however, he would be dead long enough to get the message to headquarters, but not so long that he couldn’t switch out his body for a shifter or something of the sort. the body would be looked over to have time of death and cause of death determined, and then they’d just toss it and burn it.  
  
he’d get out of the men of letters alive. and he’d walk free with mick.  
  
—————————————  
  
forty. he took ten minutes that morning to stare at himself in the mirror, noticing all of his imperfections. he was getting old.  
  
fuck, he was old enough to have a midlife crisis.  
  
mick had pulled him away, attempting to convince him that it was fine - but it really wasn’t.  
  
he was forty years old. he’d heard quips from the newer graduates about his age, but his reputation never failed to spread to them, and they tended shut up after that. but it still bothered them.  
  
he had a better grip on reality now, but what was the point? half of his life was gone, wasted.  
  
mick’s reassuring hand was soothing, but it wouldn’t be enough to calm him.  
  
“truly, love, you don’t look that old.” ketch sighed, and kissed mick. “i’ve made it a lot longer than i ever expected,” he joked in response.  
  
his joke was truthful though. he had expected to be lying dead in a ditch somewhere by now.  
  
perhaps fate was just simply punishing him.  
  
—————————————  
  
forty-three. the first birthday in a while that he hadn’t spent the whole day with mick. usually the british men of letters gave him a day off on his birthday, and assigned some other operative to do whatever he would have done.  
  
instead, they decided their force in america was too small to just let him off. the rampant monster problem was too much of an issue. instead, they had him spending his birthday hunting with mary winchester.  
  
she wasn’t aware that he was one year older now. in fact, he was willing to bet that the only thing she truly knew about him was his name. he didn’t mind that. it was easier hunting when your partner didn’t know everything about you.  
  
unlike anyone he would have been hunting with in london, she didn’t know about the fact that the british men of letters had tortured him and brainwashed him for falling in love with mick. she didn’t know, so she couldn’t throw that in his face when she got mad.  
  
it was a very refreshing change.  
  
he’d later go where he was staying to mick and they’d do something that mick came up with for his birthday, and everything would be good.  
  
but for now, he would sit silently in a car with this american who he’d most likely have to end up killing and think about how much he loved mick.  
  
—————————————  
  
forty-four. it’s a strange feeling, knowing that you’re living on borrowed time. his heart should not be beating. his body should be decomposed in a sewer somewhere, and yet he’s still alive.  
  
his first birthday in a very long time without mick at all. his first birthday in a very long time alone.  
  
really, it’s all his fault. mick’s body is in a box, too still and pale, and the sight made ketch nauseous. his love, with a hole in the back of his head.  
  
ketch is alive, and mick is not. he should be grateful to be the lucky one.  
  
he hopes perhaps since he has yet to find rowena, sam and dean will assist him to rejoin mick.  
  
—————————————  
  
forty-five. february 21st, 2019. the room was silent, aside from the steady sound of mick’s breath, and his own. he felt mick running a thumb over where his tattoo should have been.  
  
this is what he’s always wanted. freedom. peace. mick smiling—  
  
he never thought this would be his reality.  
  
ketch had never been so sure of anything. he knew who he was. he knew what he was fighting for. he had a purpose. his soul - and mick’s - was intact. he knew he loved mick, and he knew mick loved him. that’s all that mattered to him.  
  
he had never felt so alive.

**Author's Note:**

> hi for anyone that even slightly gives a shit  
> my favourites are  
> 14 - that was originally just a stinky draft i was going to scrap and never touch again so i'm glad it's being used for something  
> 16 ?????  
> 27 (if that wasn't obvious by the fucking length of that shit)  
> uuuhhhh 45 i guess  
> thanks i hope you have a lovely day and i hope my boy arthur enjoys the day with his husband mick


End file.
